And then Transdniestria got in the way...

Trandneistria. You may have heard the name, but you probably couldn't point it out on a map, right? Not that this is anything to be embarrassed about (most maps don't show it). In short, it's a long, narrow strip of land that sits between the Dneister River and the Moldovan-Ukrainian border. Why is it special? Because it is a self-proclaimed autonomous region that the world does not recognize.

Once you've lived in the former Soviet Union, you realize just how problematic "autonomous" regions can be to your travel plans. They often block direct passage from one country to another. If you attempt to pass through them, you better get ready to bribe your away to the other side. These regions play by their own rules, which are, not surprisingly, very rarely foreigner-friendly.

Some might relish the opportunity to go to one of these places, while others wouldn't go near them with a thousand-foot pole. As my Dad and I were sitting in an internet cafe in Chernovitse pondering the next phase of your journey, my mind was see-sawing back and forth between the two polar opposites.

You see, the plan was to go from Chernovitse, through Moldova to Chisinau, and then on to Odessa before going back to Kiev. A brilliant plan on paper; not so easy in practice. Enter our old friend Transdniestria. It conveniently controls the main road between Chisinau and Odessa. Want to cross through it? You better be prepared to buck up.

We were short on time, so a rendezvous with Transdneistrian border patrols, however tempting it was, seemed out of the question. Instead, we decided to jump on a local train, cross the border, and get off somewhere random.

Rural. That's about how I would describe where we got off. A small road, ironically the main road in Moldova, meandered its way southeast to Chisinau. Buses roared passed every once and a while as we walked without anything resembling a destination in mind. What I would've done for a bike....

We stopped for lunch in front of an old Soviet war monument. Let's see. Two foreigners sitting on cement steps eating bread and meat from a bag. It was only a matter of time before a local came up and asked us what was going on. We were like magnets in a lead storm.

End of Part 1